Flavia
by Cheval de la Nuit
Summary: First off, the rating is somewhere between Pg-13 and R for the content. It is a dark story, and so rated cautiously. It is the story of Flavia, the daughter of Javert. This is what happened after he leapt.
1. 1

The tiles were cold. Cold against my bare leg as I sat in my shift on the bathroom floor, cradling the box of broken razors I had hidden beneath one of the tiles. I shivered, watching myself reach into the box. Looking through the window, I saw myself slash my thigh to test the blade, and I saw that a line of blood stained my thoroughly veined, skin. From outside the moment, I cried out; but although I did not move or make a sound, tears filled my eyes. I looked at the scars on my arms, arms that I bound every morning. How many new scars would be there tomorrow? How was I to know? I only watched myself do these things, unable to intervene, until either sunrise or some unsuspecting student entered the chilled room where I quietly sat.  
  
I awoke in a small puddle of my own blood, as the earliest morning rays of light crept through the window. Sunrise always made me nervous, and I never welcomed it, but I always woke for it. I hurriedly hid the rusting razors underneath the tile from which they came, and cleaned up the crusting blood, dark and wet against the pale blue tiles. The cuts having stopped bleeding, I re-bound my arms and treated the slash on my leg, knowing it would scar. I tried to pull my shift to cover it as best I could, so that when I slipped back into the dorm room, no one would ask any questions. Not that any of them cared. Of course, Maedel pretends to worry, but she'll get over it, and go giggle and whisper with the Others if I ignore her for long enough. They all did before; why should this place be so different? Oh, but it is different. So different from the strict, orderly schools I used to attend. And why? What makes it so different? When I saw it, it was all I had hoped for, all I'd ever dreamed it could be, and more. It was a castle. I'd never seen a real castle before, with turrets and towers, and windows all over. So high, overshadowing the beautiful lake, vast lands- oh, it was the most beautiful place I'd ever dreamed of. And it was tangible, unlike my other dreamlands. I was almost afraid to close my eyes for fear that it would all be gone when I again opened them. But now, I tightly shut my eyes closed as I walk from classroom to classroom, praying that I'll soon wake from this dream turned nightmare.  
  
No one questions my actions; I believe they all fear me. No one cares enough to ask, anyway. Why should I want their pity? I don't need their sympathy! The Others say I keep to myself, but I say the Others never asked. Who would care, or want to care? Who wants the pain of getting involved? I know exactly how different I am, even here. Don't think I don't hear the whispers in the halls, or notice the stares in the corridors. My strange name, an unknown past I'd rather forget, strange skin and hair, and my eyes! No one wants to look into my eyes! My colorless eyes, unblinking, penetrate into your very soul. Look into my eyes!  
  
I dressed in my school robes and slipped into my cold bed, having not slept in it most of the night. Curling up in a ball, I silently cried. When finally I lay quiet, I thought about my father. I've never met the man, he fled before I was born. He married my mother, respectably (she kept his name, and gave it to me), and one night after my mum told him she pregnant, he disappeared without a trace of him ever having been there. He left us nothing, no belongings to remember him by, not even a wedding ring. There are no photographs of him at all; my mother always joked that he wasn't "photogenic", but it was impossible to catch him on film. She tried to tell me of him, of his meticulous clothing, of his long, lustrous hair, of his unusual sideburns. She always described him as being tall for that time, she said he was not particularly attractive but she found him very alluring for some reason; perhaps it was his eyes, colorless like my own, or the way he held himself, aloof and wary. He was a challenge; how could she break such of heart of blood-red granite. Did she succeed? Mum always said not to blame him, that he was a very troubled but wonderful man. He surely had good reason to go, she assured me. What reason could that be? Were we not good enough for him, not good enough reasons to stay? Did he not want a daughter, did I cause him to go? Was it my impending birth that caused my father's disappearance and all of my mother's pain?  
  
Sometimes the imagined guilt is unbearable, and my lack of certainty about so many things makes my mind lose its edge. How can I know the truth of a past, so long ago; one I didn't even live in? I don't understand the people around me; I seem to be so unlike any of them. The subjects we cover in class are easy enough; my mother had had me tutored secretly at home. I hadn't shown any sign of having the innate ability required for a school of this genre and caliber to admit me. I'm not far behind in the sciences and history of this world, but I'll need a private tutor in the practical use of my hidden skill. It was all so exciting and rather overwhelming when I received my letter. I knew that my mum would be so happy for me! Oh, how I wanted to make her memory proud!  
  
Moreover, it was the escape from reality that I had wished for, had prayed for. My wish-upon every star-was just to free myself, getting out of the repetitious cycles of fear and being feared, the psychologists and changing schools. Now I wish only to die. Actually, I've always been this way. And for me, always has been quite a long time. Yes, I appear to be about sixteen years old, but I have been alive for nearly seven times that length of time. I'm approximately 117 years old. My mother is dead, and has been for years. My father, I assumed dead long ago, unless he's like me. I might never know, unless he chooses to contact me, and that's assuming he lives on. I've seen a lot of history (although that does very little for me in our history class), and in this world, this is a VERY bad time.  
  
One individual has gradually gathered power and has become incredibly corrupted. Or perhaps he was corrupted before, or maybe he was always this way; but as I said before, always is a long time. Surprisingly, this is my first year at this school, although I am in 5th year classes. Though I may be older and smarter than my peers, my maturity level is about the same. I'm not a total freak, and I certainly don't act my age. But my advanced age is only one difference of the many between myself and those around me. There are obvious differences, mostly in the way I look. I'm tall and extremely slender; some would call me emancipated if they didn't know that I'm perfectly healthy. I have enormous eyes and irises like quicksilver, as well as nearly translucent skin. My hair is raven black with highlights of white and red. I always wear it down brushed back from my face, without bangs. My teeth are sharp like the few of the words I occasionally choose to speak. My saliva is highly acidic. My arms are thin and bound, and I avoid showing my skin, especially avoiding exposing any part of me to direct sunlight. I thrive in the darkness.  
  
The psychologists have given my "condition" many names, not many of which are flattering. They all agree that I'm suicidal, psychotic, and possibly dangerous, but I wouldn't take the drugs they gave me. I've always been obsessed with death, sedating me won't help me. My only fear is that I might hurt someone one day, and so I let no one near me. No one can be allowed close enough to me to get hurt. I am dangerous, like a chained beast, I must be restrained to protect the Others from what neither they nor I understand.  
  
I listened as the girls in the beds surrounding mine woke up and began their morning routines. Being already dressed and prepared, I stayed in my bed with the heavy curtains drawn. Maedel rapped on my bedpost, calling out, "Are you ready to go to breakfast, Vi?" I hate the nickname the Others thought up for me, "Vi", but I suppose it's easier for them than Flavia. It would look rather nice on a tombstone. I also am greatly opposed to Maedel's efforts to befriend me. Her unnatural attentions towards me seem superficial, but I know the kindness is real. She seems to hold a high opinion of me, and is one of the only girls in my dorm room who truly respects me, if not my preference of privacy. But, of course, she is "weird" too, one of the general outcasts, though she's naturally very sweet and does have some good friends. I wish that she would give up and leave me alone. I feel awful shunning and snubbing her every time she is friendly towards me. I hate to hurt her, being so innocent. I hate to see the innocent die, even though sometimes they must. Another thing I hate is Jamie and her little clique of perfection. She sleeps in the bed opposite mine and I can't stand her! She's smart and cute and normal, full of life and "practically perfect in every way." She and her little gang of groupies just piss me off! But there isn't a thing I can do about it, so I try not to let them bother me. 


	2. 2

They are the poster children. And yet, how I envy their simple joys, the way they don't let their issues interfere with happiness. Jamie and all her groupies are such DLA's-Daddy's Little Angels. Ha! Here I am, rambling in slang from one of my various former schools; sometimes I really am pathetic. In fact, I am quite pathetic by most people's standards. But they do not pity me because of what I really am, but because of the poor starving, light-deprived creature they think they see.  
  
As we walked down to the Great Hall for the morning meal, I thought about Maedel. Why does she bother? What is her motivation? I can't understand her, her concern for others, for the environment, for me. What good does it do her? What does she gain? Nothing, she gets nothing from sticking her neck out for others' and others' business, except perhaps getting her head cut off. "I stick my neck out for no one," says the famous line from Casablanca. Not many here I've seen are interested in that type of film, but I've watched it many a time. It is one of the best of the genre in a classic sense. The line very much applies to me; I don't take risks for others' benefit unless there is something definite, tangible, and profitable in it for me. Why should I? Why should she? And what right does she have to do so?  
  
At "brekkie" as the little British prep school girls call it, I made my final decision. Tonight, I would end it all-all the hopelessness, all the grief, all the concern over my mental heath and the thinking and the pills and the hardships, everything. It's almost as if I'm watching myself pretend to live, and I can't wait to see how it all ends.  
  
I get a rush of anticipation and a thrill of adrenaline whenever I think about it. It's not at all surprising to me that I have no fear of death, even of my own. I never really saw any point to living, and it will all be over soon enough anyway. I don't want to have too many regrets in my life, and I will have many less if I simply go now. I could always relate to the title of a musical I once heard about, Stop the World-I Want to Get Off! I know I can't take this anymore, the loneliness, the guilt, the worries, the lies, the pain; tomorrow I won't be able to feel any of it. Will there be a tomorrow for me? Could it be one life means nothing at all? My escape tonight will be relieving. I plan to attempt to enjoy my last day of so- called life.  
  
Classes began normally enough: Plant Sciences and History in the morning, Chemistry after dinner and then a study hall free period before supper. During Science we did nothing out of the ordinary, working with a couple of dangerous new crossbreeds of plants with medical powers.  
  
My ability to work with demonic plants comes naturally, I rarely need help and do well on my own, feeding off the plants' energy as they feed off the sun coming through the greenhouse panels. History was mind-numbingly boring, a class lacking anything at all interesting or appealing sounding. Even carnage. Now I sit alone, eating a quick luncheon of veal before disappearing into the library to study more- what shall I say?-"exciting" chemistry before classes begin again. 


	3. 3

In the library, I delight in discovering other worlds. The library is my home, and in my suicide note I plan to say that I would like to be buried with a copy of Candlewax and Poppyseeds, a book of simple 'dark' magic I unearthed some time ago and promptly fell in love with.  
  
I expect the Master will be his usual pitiless self today, perhaps choosing some poor innocent to suffer his wrath; he is one of my idols as a teacher, he is so profound and forthright, unafraid of society's eye but shying from the light. He is a picture of how I see my father once was, perhaps not in physical appearance but in demeanor. Though I slouch into my seat, I sit up with respect as he enters the room and begins writing on the board. Everyone is already copying it down word for word, knowing he will not slow down but be ready to begin as soon as he finishes writing. Hmm... Today will we are learning to create a chemical solution that would remove all traces of blood from anything; a most useful creation in my opinion. And not too difficult, if one has any skill in this area-which I do.  
  
Nearly done now, all I need to do is use my pen-knife to spill a bit of blood on my cloak to test it. Look, the professor wants to use me as an example. Carefully bring the knife across my wrist, trying not to look suspiciously practiced. The room is spinning! I can't see! My eyes closed, I watch myself plunge the knife into the base of my throat and lose all consciousness. Collapsed in a growing pool of shadowy blood, I fade away... 


	4. 4

I was flying! Free, floating in the white soft pleats of warm nothing, and nothing and nothing... No! A black fringe of reality creeping in on my wonder world of freedom in death, drawing me back into my horrid body, deformed and destroyed and no longer fit to even breath in, I can't go back! I won't go back! They can't make me, I'm finally free, even if it wasn't planned, I'm escaping to somewhere better, and I'm not even there yet! Let me go, let me be! I opened my eyes to blurry off whiteness, praying to a nameless entity that I would blink and be flying again, but I was not destined to be blessed. I suddenly realized I was in a fair amount of pain, and nearly lost consciousness again as waves of nausea passed over me, before realizing I was healing already. The wound at my neck was sealing over as I breathed, leaving what would become a neat scar like those on the rest of my body. I had always questioned my recoveries from all my various injuries, and why every cut became a tidy scar within a day.  
  
I fully opened my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the lighting, and discovered I was on a cot, wrapped tightly in a sheet, quite efficiently bound. Several burning lamps dimly lighted the room, but I could see perfectly, as I can see as well in the dark as in full sunlight. The view from the low bed included an organized desk and drawers with a chair tucked under it, a cabinet with a lock on it, and an armchair next to the door. Stretched languidly in the armchair was, unexpectedly, the professor. I gasped, and he lazily opened one eye, saying,  
  
"I see you are awake." 


	5. 5

He sat crouched in the shadows. The countless years had begun to erode his rigid spirit. His body, by nature, remained as it had when he first tasted his draught of damned existence. His long silver hair was pulled back tight and smooth with black cord. His boots were well-polished and ran midway up his calves. Starched black breeches and a well-pressed shirt draped his lean frame. A thick woolen greatcoat covered it all, its fabric matching his stony eyes.  
  
The world tumbled around him, just as confused and jaded as he. A child played with her father below on the cobblestones. Laughing and flicking her raven hair, she tossed a pastel ball. Meanwhile, alone on the rooftops, this silver-haired man frequently gazed at the children while they played. He had almost been a father. There had been a child, a girl, he was certain. Occasionally his mind would sail away. She was tall, was she not? Her hair-was it black as his had been, or did it glow, as her mother's had, chestnut and crimson. Was she as cold as he had let himself become? A maelstrom of thoughts churned in his mind, always. He called himself Phillipe.  
  
Damned to roam the world forever, Phillipe was serving his sentence. He had thrown himself from life before God had intended. As a punishment, he was given life-unending to be shown what anger and grief truly were.  
  
Since 1832, and its foul river, Phillipe had tried to escape his punishment: in pain, in death, and. in love.He watched the twilight spill over London. Harsh stone buildings paled and softened when flooded with the evening light. The child went in, her father and the ball behind her. 


	6. 6

I started, and then slowly attempted to rise. Failing miserably, I writhed on the cot for a bit, while he watched me amusedly all the while. "Would you like some assistance?" the professor queried, baring his fangs at me. I'd never before seen such a malicious and alluring smile, or teeth so sharp and demonic. I continued struggling without answering, beginning to panic a bit. He glided over and cautiously untucked me from my imprisoning cot as I snapped at him, my needle-like teeth clicking where they met no resistance but smoky air. "Careful now, I wouldn't do that if I were you", he warned sarcastically.  
  
All my dignity disappeared and I hissed at him. I tried to sit up and quickly learned that this was unwise as more waves of nausea hit me, and I noticed I was undressed, wearing nothing but my arm wraps and covered only by the thankfully rather thick sheet. The professor leered at me unpleasantly while I found my bearings. I was disoriented and confused. How was I even alive? Why had he not taken me directly to the hospital wing? What the hell happened? I was about to find these answers and more, the answers to many of the questions I've asked all my life.  
  
"Where am I?" I asked him in a raspy voice.  
  
"On the other side of death," he replied. "You may call me Nikolai. This is my office, welcome. I would invite you to make yourself comfortable, but I think I've seen to that sufficiently, have I not?" he smirked.  
  
"This could take a long time to explain, if what I understand is true."  
  
I rolled my eyes and tried to look indifferent in the unusual circumstance. What in nine hells could he mean?  
  
He began again, "I believe that you are certifiably undead."  
  
Undead! He must be mad! Undead. A term from movie screens, a word for those inexplicable freaks of nature that people naturally assumed must have died and come back to life. A creature made in order to keep little ones from playing in the woods or touching certain objects. Even in this world, where reality and the supernatural collide, undead? I glared careful to look skeptical and unconcerned, although inside my head I was screaming.  
  
Nikolai spoke, "I am a vampire. It is a fact I can no longer deny, or attempt to hide. I have been alive for almost 150 years. I was not grateful for the gift of my own life and sought to use it for the power of evil and eventually destroy myself. Many, many years ago, I was young and foolish, not unlike you, but luckier in that I had at one point been living normally. I believe that you were someone born with this plague, you were half-dead at birth and are now, by killing yourself, fully undead. You poor fated demon. I was angry and hardened, but shattered into so many fragments I thought I could never again be whole. I'll spare you the details, but I was violent-suicidal. And I was wrong. In return for this, I was given undeserved eternal life, but at the price of never living. Vampires are bound to both protect the living as special guardians, and to feed off of them. We do what we must, and you are one of us."  
  
"No! It cannot be true! I don't believe you. Why should I trust you? I am NOT one of you!" I quietly ranted. I fluidly wrapped the sheet around me and stood in one motion, then ran out of the room, and into the corridors, lost and without any idea where I was running. I knew that I had to run, had to get out of there. Although, it would explain so many things. But it also gives rise to so many questions! I suppose it would explain my longevity, assuming all vampires have eternal life insofar as they fulfill their duties. It would also explain the rapidity with which I recover from injury and my obsession with death. Also my state of health-must I now drink blood? This would explain my unquenchable thirst for something more than water, wine, or even the strongest liquor could provide. But could I kill to quench that thirst? Yes, yes I could. I knew it, just as I knew that I would. If killing was what my new life required, I would do it. If I could escape this constant longing for something I could never have; escape this continuous need to attain freedom, I would do anything! If I cannot kill myself to be rid of this world, I will kill whoever stands between me and my peace. And for now, that could mean anyone. 


	7. 7

I raced along the now dark halls, beginning to recognize some of my surroundings. I didn't want anyone to see me in this rather embarrassing, agitated state, so I took the shortest possible route back to the dorms. I tried to slip in quietly, but as I riffled through my trunk to fin my nightdress, holding up the sheet with one still bandaged arm all the while, I heard a whisper.  
  
"Hello?" It was Maedel. How fondly I had thought of her this morning, before my whole world had upended itself. She would not die with her blood on my lips.  
  
"Shhh." I hissed, "Go back to sleep, We'll discuss this in the morning." Like hell we would.  
  
I rebound my arms with black rags torn from my oldest school robes. I hastily dressed myself in black pocketing all my most precious belongings and throwing what I thought would be most useful into a drawstring rucksack. Donning my heavy full-length black cloak, I threw myself out of the dormitory window. I could fly again! Oh, to have such wings forever! I somehow managed to land safely, without further injury, hidden in some bushes along the stone wall. Having no clue as to where I was heading, I strode towards the Forest, pacing down the walkways through the extensive courtyards, silently praying to whatever deity I now believed in that I would meet no one. Suddenly, I happened upon a young girl, a primer in her first year here, alone. Some buried wildcat instinct in me told me to crouch low to the ground, using the surrounding bushes as cover to stalk closer, careful not to make a sound. Without my acknowledgement or permission, some foreign mind had taken control over my fading sanity, and I couldn't do a thing to stop it. Now I was almost directly behind her, downwind and slightly to the left. I studied her for a moment; she had glasses, flashing blue eyes and a dreamy look on her face. She sighed as she tucked a wavy brown lock of hair behind her ear; probably waiting for her little boyfriend. I hope he's late, and he'll never have to see this, I thought in the still semi-rational part of my brain. And then I pounced. 


	8. 8

I have never experienced anything like it. I moved like liquid lightning, striking and silencing her in one swift attack. I knocked the wind out of her when I hit her and she fell unconscious when her head hit the pavement. Not really knowing what I was doing, but being instructed all the while by the stranger in my head, I tore the fabric away, pushing her hair aside, exposing her neck. Unsure of myself, I bit in.  
  
It was like an explosion! I was so thirsty. Warm, wet sticky blood filled my mouth: I was choking! Oh, but it was so wonderful! It seemed like my mouth was absorbing it, like it was being drawn up through my teeth. I chomped a bit, making a horrible mess of her throat, but not caring. It felt so good! It was like your first trip on acid, the one that you spend all of your money on buying drugs, trying to recreate. It was like a flame to a freezing man, like water to a man in the desert, like air to a drowning man, and like food to the starving poor, all at once. After about a quarter of an hour of gorging myself, I sat back and surveyed my victim, and promptly was hit by more waves of the now familiar nausea. It looked like a good place to test the blood removal potion, on my robes, and everywhere surrounding me. There was blood spilled all about me, wasted by my messy mastication. All over the cobblestones of the courtyard, her robes, and mine. The smooth line of her throat was shredded, and the light that had once flashed in those still too-blue eyes was gone forever. What HAD I done? The tiger in me withdrew once again, and I curled up, my eyes staring at nothing in particular, avoiding the body. I rocked back and forth, and whispered to comfort myself, to try to reconcile my own actions.  
  
Abruptly, I felt someone's gaze piercing me. Against the backdrop of a cloudy sky, as if attempting to conceal a full moon, a figure stood watching, draped all in black like myself. "It has begun," resounded a voice in my head. There was only one person it could be. I ran. 


	9. 8 & 12

The professor gazed at what he could not stop. His student headed toward the Forest, leaving a glistening trail from her victim as she ran. What a surprise this would bring for Phillipe once he was told. Nikolai vanished from the castle's roof in a swift gust of wind. 


	10. 9

Long after the young girl retreated indoors, Phillipe sat on the rooftop. Lost in thought, he gazed out at the countryside that spanned before him.  
  
"What now Nikolai?" He asked the man who had silently approached him from behind, his thick French accent making his words lilt.  
  
"Damn!" Nikolai responded, shocked that despite his numerous attempts at surprising his companion, his presence was always detected.  
  
"Well? Did you come for any purpose other than annoyance?" Phillipe asked curtly, still not turning around. His back was to his comrade; his face, to the dark countryside. A single tear fell from his eye; unseen to all but the moon.  
  
"Our numbers grow," replied Nikolai, "and the product of your brief marriage is now among us."  
  
Phillipe sighed inaudibly, "What do you plan to do?"  
  
"I will go after her, she shan't be too hard to find", Nikolai answered. "No doubt she will arrive at Argens River. It is the closest water source to the school."  
  
"Yes", I know exactly where the river is. I recall finding a certain fledgling huddled on its banks."  
  
Nikolai cast his eyes downward, not answering Phillipe's indirect question.  
  
"Well, now that it is decided," he said at length.  
  
"You are going after her?" Nikolai's companion asked, realizing at once that his voice betrayed his concern and interest. Nikolai eyed him suspiciously, a smirk dawning across his face.  
  
"Of course! She must be instructed properly." Phillipe stated, recovering his dignity and resolve.  
  
"But of course," came Nikolai's answer, glancing at Phillipe haughtily.  
  
Immediately, the old man stood to his full height, which was considerable, and towering above Nikolai, glared down at him. In the moonlight, his sideburns became trickles of silver down his strong chin. His hair shone and his gray eyes flashed.  
  
Nikolai took a wary step backwards. "I'd best be off", he remarked, rather quickly.  
  
Phillipe shook his head in disgust. "You enjoy this, don't you?"  
  
Nikolai's face clouded over briefly, confused by what he had just been asked.  
  
Phillipe continued, "The power, the fear, all that is caused by you...us, being what we are..."  
  
"Vampires,"  
  
"Oui, les vampires, if you must use such a childish term. Do you realize that we are condemned? This form we take is punishment, not a blessing!"  
  
"Let it go old man. You've already spent over 250 years in this punishment. Try and see what benefits it can bring."  
  
Phillipe turned away, back to the cobblestones. Impassioned, Nikolai walked forward until he was once more in front.  
  
"This!" he said, clenching his fists, "this is pure power! Nature at her best! The increased senses, the physical strength, the speed..."  
  
"The unending life," Phillipe muttered.  
  
"Yes! Yes, the eternal life! Immortality! What a blessing?"  
  
"A curse!" spat Phillipe, turning his back again to Nikolai, and striding toward the far end of the roof where they stood.  
  
Now it was Nikolai's turn to be disgusted.  
  
"Damned traditionalist! I have work to do. I'll leave you and your punishment here. If you decide to show later, you'll know where to find me.... us." 


	11. 10

I ran as hard as I could, heading toward the Forest, my blood-stained robes billowing out behind me. I turned from the tiger to the hunted gazelle, from the ultimate slayer to the daintiest prey. I fled into the woods, where I knew many dangers waited.but I could defend myself, and I would find shelter and sustenance in the deep woods, and hopefully some peaceful place to sort myself out. I was angry, confused, pumped, joyous, relieved, and scared all at once. I was angry that I had done something so evil, and angry that I couldn't help it, angry that I couldn't deny it. I was confused on how and how this had happened to me. What was I to do? I was joyous that my seemingly unrelenting thirst was temporarily stoppered. I was relieved that I had some idea of what was happening, but very afraid that really, I had no idea at all. I picked my way through massive trees and thick undergrowth. As the sun rose, the Forest's canopy protected my skin and eyes from the brightness and heat. Mildly buffaloed I followed the distant sound of water picked up by my oversensitive ears, hoping to come upon something recognizably edible along the way. About midday, after finding a few filling mushrooms, I finally found a suitable clearing It was a space created by the fall of one of the giant trees, not yet completely overgrown. It was ideal, near clean water, readily available food and hunting trails, and the immense log provided comfortable and immediate shelter. I prepared myself to spend some time living a simple life, providing for myself, and spending many hours deep in thought and meditation. 


End file.
